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She sighed. “Forget the chocolate chip cookie,” she said aloud. “This calls for ice cream.”
six
Jaine woke up early the next morning, without benefit of clock or sun. The simple act of rolling over woke her, because every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Her ribs ached, her knee stung, her arms ached every time she moved them; even her butt was sore. She hadn’t had this many aches and pains since the first time she went rollerskating.
Groaning, she eased into a sitting position and inched her legs over the side of the bed. If she felt this bad, she wondered how the old guys felt. They hadn’t been punched, but the fall would have been rougher on them.
Cold was better for sore muscles than heat was, but she didn’t think she was brave enough to face a cold shower. She’d rather tackle a belligerent drunk any time than stand naked under a freezing blast of water. She compromised by showering in tepid water, then gradually turned the hot water completely off. Gradually working up to the cold water didn’t help; she stood it for about two seconds, then climbed out of the shower much faster than she had climbed in.
Shivering, she quickly dried off and stepped into her long, blue, front-zip robe. She seldom bothered with it during the summer, but today it felt good.
Getting up early had one advantage: she got to wake up BooBoo, rather than the other way around.
He didn’t take kindly to having his beauty rest disturbed. The disgruntled cat hissed at her, then stalked off to find a more private place to sleep. Jaine smiled.
She didn’t have to hurry that morning, since she had gotten up too early, which was good, because her sore muscles made it plain hurrying wasn’t on the agenda today. She lingered over her coffee, a rare weekday treat, and instead of making do with cold cereal the way she usually did, she popped a frozen waffle into the toaster and sliced up some strawberries to go on top. After all, a woman who had been in a brawl deserved a little extra treat.
After finishing the waffle, she drank another cup of coffee and pulled up the robe to examine her scraped knee. She had put ice on it as directed, but there was still a nice large bruise, and her entire knee was stiff and sore. She couldn’t loll around all day on a pile of ice packs, so she popped a couple of aspirin and resigned herself to discomfort for a couple of days.
Her first real surprise of the day came when she began dressing and put on a bra. As soon as she fastened the front hook, tightening the band around her sore rib cage, she knew the bra had to go. Standing in front of her closet, naked except for her panties,
she faced another dilemma: what did a bra-less woman wear if she didn’t want anyone to know she was braless?
Even in an air-conditioned office, the weather was too hot for her to keep a jacket on all day. She had some pretty dresses, but her nipples would be plainly outlined beneath the thin fabrics. Hadn’t she read something once about Band-Aids over the nipples? Anything was worth a try. She got two Band-Aids, plastered them over her nipples, then pulled on one of the dresses and examined herself in the mirror. The Band-Aids were clearly outlined.
Okay, that didn’t work. Plain surgical tape might do the trick, but she didn’t have any. Besides, the dress revealed her scraped knee, and it looked gross. She peeled off the Band-Aids and went back to examining the contents of her closet.
In the end she settled on a long hunter green skirt and a white knit top that she covered with a cadet blue silk shirt. She knotted the shirttails at her waist, put on blue and green stretchy bead bracelets, and was rather impressed when she consulted her mirror.
“Not bad,” she said, turning to examine the result. “Not bad at all.”
Luckily her hair was no problem. It was thick and glossy, a nice dark reddish brown, and had plenty of body. Her current style was a sort of modified shag that required no more than brushing, which was good, because raising her arms made her ribs hurt. She made short work of the brushing.
But there was a bruise on her cheekbone. She scowled in the mirror and gingerly touched the small blue spot. It wasn’t sore, but it was definitely blue. She seldom did a full makeup job—why waste it on work?—but today she would have to bring out the big guns.
By the time she sashayed out the door in her chic serendipitous outfit and with full battle paint in place, she thought she looked pretty damn good.
The jerk—Sam—was unlocking his car door when she stepped out. She turned and took her time locking the door behind her, hoping he would simply get into his car and leave, but no such luck.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice right behind her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Stifling a shriek, she whirled. Bad move. Her ribs protested; she gave an involuntary groan and dropped her keys.
“Damn it!” she shouted, when she could breathe again. “Stop sneaking up on me like that!”
“It’s the only way I know,” he said, his face expressionless. “If I waited until you turned around, I wouldn’t be sneaking.” He paused. “You cussed.”
As if she needed him to point that out. Fuming, she dug in her purse for a quarter and slapped it in his hand.
He blinked as he looked down at the quarter. “What’s this for?”
“Because I swore. I have to pay a quarter when I’m caught. That’s how I’m motivating myself to stop.”
“Then you owe me a hell of a lot more than a quarter. You said a couple of words last night.”
She curled her lip at him. “You can’t go back into the past and collect. I’d have to empty out my bank account. You have to catch me at the time.”
“Yeah, well, I did. Saturday, when you were mowing your lawn. You didn’t pay me then.”
Silently, her teeth gritted together, she dug out another quarter.
